


Another Breed of Silence

by CallousHeartz



Series: How Time Decides [9]
Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Album), My Chemical Romance, The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Comic)
Genre: Desert Walks, Gen, Late Night Conversations, too many energy drinks what the fuck Ghoul
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-10-30 06:37:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17823746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CallousHeartz/pseuds/CallousHeartz
Summary: a late night walk gives way to words which should've been exchanged long ago.





	Another Breed of Silence

Ghoul's never been afraid of the dark.

Years of sneaking out close to midnight have shown him all it has to offer, and he's never found much beyond what his own imagination's contributed.

But Battery City darkness is different to desert darkness, and this night is different to other nights.

He's somewhere between too tired to be awake and not quite tired enough to be asleep as he sits round the back of the diner, and, as he's come to realise, that state of mind is very efficient at exacerbating existing irrational fears, and even more efficient at manufacturing its own. All of a sudden, it feels like the night itself is out to get him. The dark and the near silence are working as one, closing in on him, and he can't take much more. 

So he heads back indoors.

Using half his body, he pushes open the door to what was once a kitchen, and, well.. sort of serves the same purpose even now. There's the odd few forks, a couple cans of Power Pup, probably way more energy drinks than necessary, etc, etc - it's likely the closest you'll get to a kitchen out here.

Ghoul flicks on the light switch and pulls up a chair at the little wooden table. He rests his forehead in his palm.  
_Man, I could really go for a coffee right now._  
Energy drinks are his nearest alternative, a fast working shot of caffeine; there's a few cans left on the table, luckily enough.  
Ghoul cracks one open and takes about five deep swigs, immune at this point to the sour taste. Then he slams it down on the table, a drop or two spraying his hand in the process, and lets his head hit the table with a heavy groan.

He reluctantly looks up again as the door creaks open. 

Standing there is none other than the Killjoys' leader himself, and he looks about as worn out and done as Ghoul feels.  
His bright hair's pulled back in a lazy low ponytail, strands tumbling over his face here and there, and he's swapped his usual form-fitting leather jacket and sleek tank top combination for a baggy black Mad Gear shirt with holes in the sleeves. Traces of fading kohl liner mingle with the tired circles around his eyes.

"What're you doin' up?" He mumbles, taking the chair opposite Ghoul's.

Ghoul holds the can out to him, but he shakes his head.

"Suit yourself," Ghoul drains the rest in one slow, lethargic move, then tosses the can aside, "Dunno. Couldn't get to sleep... sat out for a while... found my way back in... now I'm here,"  
He reaches for another can, cracking it open as he speaks.

"Don't understand how you can drink that crap," Poison’s lip curls in disgust, “Tastes like actual spew,"

"Sure does," Ghoul wipes his mouth on his arm, "But it works its magic nice and fast. Anyway," He rests his elbow on the back of his chair, "Tell me. What're _you_ doing up?"

"Always am," Poison replies bluntly, "This time of night's when I start thinkin'. Hard to lie still when your brain's refusin’ to do just that. And it ain’t like settlin’ down’s gonna shut it up,"  
He exhales slowly, rubbing his eye, "Don't know why the hell I'm sayin' all this, though. Never even talk t'people this late, maybe there's a reason for that. I’m gonna head out or somethin’,”

He eases himself up from his seat and turns to the door.

"'Ey, Poison, wait," Ghoul rises from his chair a little without realising.

Poison turns back around, leaning his hip expectantly against the table.

"You wanna like... go for a walk or some shit?" Ghoul offers, scratching the back of his neck, "It's not like either of us were planning on getting to sleep anytime soon, and y'know, going out there alone's a little... scary,"

Poison raises a brow.  
"Is it really?" He teases, his natural snarky manner intact despite the languid air of his voice.

Ghoul shrugs as he scratches at his five o' clock shadow,  
"I don't like how empty everything is. Speaking of empty," Ghoul gulps down the last of his second can, "Ah, that’s the good shit. So anyway - what d'you say?"

Poison considers for a moment, or makes an effort to look like he is.

"Well," He replies finally, "I ain't got much else to do right now, so,"

"Great, then it's settled," Ghoul pulls another can off the table and shoves it in his jacket, "May as well take one of these for the road."

****

"Fuck,"

"What’s a’matter now?” Ghoul responds nonchalantly to the hissed word as Poison wraps his arms around himself.

"Fuckin' cold, that's what," He mumbles.

"Alright. Here,"  
Ghoul shrugs off the denim jacket he's got over his hoodie and drapes it over Poison's shoulders. He gives a mischievous smile,  
"Now you can stop rotting my eardrums with your complaining,"

Poison looks at him in surprise at the gesture - his sharp, pale eyes stand out a little more than usual with the diner's neon letter lights scintillating and faltering above them.

"'s cool," Ghoul says, "I got enough layers,"

Poison nods, slipping his arms into the jacket, "Cheers."

His tattoo sleeve peeks out of one slightly loose cuff and the light washed denim's a nice contrast from his usual choice of dark leather, Ghoul observes - as they trudge through the sand in silence, he realises he might've been looking a little too long, and quickly switches his gaze to the stretch of desert ahead. Shifting his eyes to something else, it seems, gives him the courage he needs to speak up.

"So, y'know earlier?" He begins.

"I'm aware of it," Poison replies, "Considering I was there and all that. What about it?"

Ghoul coughs softly,  
"I'm glad it happened is all," He explains. "Not the Dracs, those weren't too great," He adds quickly, "I mean the rest. I'm glad it happened,"

They walk a few steps further, Ghoul's eyes on the scuffed toes of his own trainers before Poison quietly replies, "So am I."

"And there's something else," Ghoul continues. He takes a breath, "I- I know we got off to a bad start, you and I,"

Poison laughs softly beside him, "Understatement of the century," 

"Yeah," Ghoul grins sheepishly, "We got off to a shit start, and I'll admit I do like to pick fights. Always have, really. I get riled up..." He shakes his head, scraping a hand through his short, messy hair, "And I'm not the best at handling it,"

"Wasn't all you," Poison cuts in. The words come with effort, Ghoul can tell, "I've... been told on occasion that I let my pride get the best of me. Well, phrased more like I need to get out of my own ass or anything to that effect, but," He shrugs, hands in the pockets of the denim jacket, "Ya get me,"

Ghoul nods,  
"We both made our mistakes," He says, "We both made this shit harder than it needed to be."

A few quiet steps later, Poison stops walking and takes a deep breath.

"Fuck, Ghoul," He murmurs. 

He turns to face him, not quite ready to make eye contact. The words come out as nothing more than a whisper, but there's grief in them - so much grief, anguish, _regret._

"I'm sorry."

Ghoul swallows down the lump those two words summon up in his throat and blinks a couple of times - he's not sure if the stinging behind his eyes is an effect of exhaustion alone.

And then, just like he'd done hours earlier, he pulls Poison into a hug, this time shrouding his face in the little area where his neck meets his shoulder.

"So we're doing this again, I suppose?" Poison remarks lightly, closing his eyes as his fingers brush the soft fabric of Ghoul's hoodie, but his smile fades when he feels the dampness against his neck.

"Ghoul?" He whispers. There's a gentle sort of concern in his voice that Ghoul might've dwelled upon any other time.

"I'm sorry too," Ghoul stammers, shaking as he clenches the fabric of his own denim jacket on Poison’s back, "I'm so, so fucking sorry."

He pulls away after a moment, sniffing hard and wiping his nose on the back of his hand.

Poison rubs his shoulder, giving it a small squeeze, "It's alright. What's done is done, and all we can do is take a different turn from here,"

"And we will.”  
Ghoul speaks firmly, decidedly, his usual fiery spirit seeping back into place, "Because we're on the same side."

"That we are."

They turn back, and no more words are exchanged, but it's a new breed of silence: a comfortable one.

When they reach the diner, Ghoul pauses at the entrance and leans his back against the door frame. His lips quirk up at the corner, and his dishevelled fringe casts a shadow over his face.

"Not gonna lie, that jacket doesn't look half bad on you.” He muses, “Feel like you should keep it,"

Poison, always a sucker for a good compliment, beams. The genuine smile acts like starlight on his weary, solemn face, and for the first time, Ghoul doesn't feel a chill when their eyes meet.

"Whilst I've no doubt it looks great on me," Poison replies, "I think it suits you a little better,"


End file.
